


Sun and Starlight

by polemisti



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mates, Minor Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-A Court of Mist and Fury, The Court of Dreams (ACoTaR), Trauma, Velaris, but not that much bc homophobia is boring and stupid, but she'll come back and it'll be happy i promise, cecily is just wandering around absorbing information, feyre is in the spring court and rhys is lonely, giving mor the wlw romance she deserves, not addressing all the trauma she expirienced, tiktok made me do it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polemisti/pseuds/polemisti
Summary: “Lord Briar’s daughter is again being… reconditioned,” the lesser fae tried.“For. What.” Mor's nostrils flares slightly.“She… fucks women… milady. Lord Briar hasn’t been able to marry her off because of it.”“Take me to them.”orMor meets her mate where she least expected it: facing a similar fate Mor herself faced five hundred years ago in the Hewn City.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Morrigan (ACoTaR)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @algeorge9, @ellis.farley, @peyton_ourada and @helloiloveanimalcrossing on tiktok for hyping me up and encouraging me to write this. I hope you like it. I definitely plan to write at least a few more chapters.

The only sounds in the long hallway were Mor’s heels clicking against stone. No one dared move, no one dared  _ breath _ . Denizens of the court of nightmares had long ago learned to interpret the movements and body language of their overseer. This mood, whatever the cause, was viscous and angry. The Morrigan’s face was tight and controlled, and she looked straight ahead as she walked.

A lesser fae, short and stout thing known as Druet watched tentatively from the shadows. The Lady Morrigan would surely call on his council, as fearful the thought made him. He made a soft prayer to the cauldron, a plea to avoid such a fate, when The Morrigan’s sharp eyes leveled on him in the shadows.

“You,” she sneered, before she continued walking. She had made no order, no crook of her finger or jerk of her chin, but Druet knew the command as if she had.  _ Follow. _

He followed behind her as she walked, jogging slightly to keep up. It was just them in the corridor now, and she led them to a small meeting room. A pitcher of wine atop a stone table awaited them. The Morrigan poured herself a goblet and sat. She did not offer Druet wine, and Druet dared not ask.

When the overseer had finished her first goblet, she turned her icy glare to the lesser fae, another silent order. Druet did not stall. He had done this before, and, assuming he was still alive the next time she called upon him, he would do it again.

“Things are… tense ever since word from Hybern arrived last night.” His voice was like the shifting of two rocks against each other, crackly and rough. He waited for the overseer of the Hewn City to react, but her face remained deadly calm as she assessed him. Druet continued, “They say Feyre Cursebreaker returned to her first master, and that this could mean war between our court and spring.” Still, the overseer gave nothing away. Druet shifted his gaze to the table.  _ Anything but her eyes. _

The overseer poured herself another goblet of wine, swirling the liquid as she mulled over the news. Druet could not read anything on her face other than general anger and resentment. The Morrigan took one more sip from her new goblet before her glare leveled on Druet once again.

“What else?”

Druet, jittering nervously at the attention, blurted out the one thing he could think of.

“Lord Briar’s daughter is still being—” He clamped his heavy hand on his mouth before he could continue. He had been strictly  _ forbidden  _ from sharing  _ that _ piece of information.

The Morrigan’s glare alone looked deadly enough to level the mountain atop them. Druet lowered his hand to his lap slowly. If the lesser fae could sweat, he’d be doing so in buckets.

“They’ll kill me if I tell you,” Druet tried.

The overseer’s gaze didn’t falter, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Funny, I was going to threaten the same thing.”

Druet barely sighed, accepting the hours of torture he was sure to receive no matter what he did. It wouldn’t be the first time his mouth got him in more trouble than it did out of it.

“Lord Briar’s daughter is again being… reconditioned,” Druet tried.

“For. What.” Druet looked at the table once again.

“She… fucks women… milady. Lord Briar hasn’t been able to marry her off because of it.”

The overseer clicked her tongue, considering. “And how long has she been…  _ fucking women _ ?” The words sounded foreign,  _ tense,  _ on the lady’s tongue. She tapped her goblet slowly.

“Since she bled, over eighty years ago. None of the lords dare promise their sons to her, they fear her… tendencies… will prove genetic. She was finally to be married a couple weeks ago…” Druet teetered off.

The lady’s glare told him to continue.

“Lord Elfen’s fifth son wanted to try to tame her…” Druet paused again, but didn’t wait for the overseer to level another world-ending glare. “Then he found her and a lesser fae in  _ his  _ bed. He dragged them both to one of the chambers and Lord Briar and his sons along with Lord Elfen’s fifth son have been… reconditioning ever since.”

The overseer took only one breath before she stood. Her rage was, thankfully, not leveled on Druet as she turned to the door.

“Take me to them.”

The lesser fae did not hesitate to rise and walk out of the room.

* * *

Mor  _ was  _ angry. She knew everyone in the Hewn city could smell it on her, and couldn’t find it in herself to care. Feyre, her  _ high lady _ , had slipped from their grasp, returned to  _ Tamlin _ . This cauldron damned court was lucky she didn’t kill them all. And  _ Rhys _ . Stupid,  _ idiot _ , Rhys, who never told her or  _ anyone  _ else  _ anything  _ about  _ any _ of his  _ ridiculous  _ schemes. And now Mor was  _ here _ . The worst place in Prythian. This…  _ situation  _ with Lord Briar looked like stress relief ready and waiting on a platter. Perhaps she could get Azriel in here to cut into him and Lord Elfen’s son. And this woman… there was little Mor could do for her. If she saved every tortured soul in the Hewn city, the mountain would have been nothing more than hollowed out rock centuries ago. But maybe… maybe she could make an exception. Just this once. Help this woman as a reward to herself for not ripping Rhys’ head off. Maybe…

The lesser fae,  _ Druet _ , Mor believed he was called, practically jogged in front of her, leading her deeper into the mountain. When they both heard the screaming echoing around them, she knew they were close. He stopped behind one of the many identical stone doors, and she dismissed him with a hand. He had disappeared before her hand had dropped back down to her side. Opening the door slowly, Mor donned a mask of boredom to conceal the rage in her eyes. She reminded herself of Rhys, for a moment.

The first thing Mor registered when she entered the torture chamber was the stench of death, pungent and sickening. The source of the odor was clear with a quick sweep of the room.

Against one wall, naked and pinned in various points, bloody beyond recognition, was a lesser fae. Mor turned quickly to the next thing she saw. Four men sat at a small table, staring at her with confusion and hints of fear clear across their faces. Playing cards were splayed on the table, marred by bloody fingerprints.

Mor’s voice was low but sweet. “Kneel.” They scrambled to the floor as Mor scanned the room again. She would have missed the last figure, were she not looking for her.

Against one wall, her grey skin blending with the stone behind her, was another naked figure chained from the ceiling. She was unconscious, head lulled, bloody hair falling over her face and eyes. Her skin was marred with blades and brands, and dark red blood stained her skin.

Mor felt rage hotter than molten iron course through her veins. She walked to the unconscious woman slowly, methodically. When she was barely a step away, she turned back to the men, who were still kneeling, eyes to the floor.

“Do not leave this room,” she said simply. With a wave of her hand, she snapped the ropes binding the naked woman in half, and caught her as she began to fall to the floor. A heartbeat later Mor winnowed them away.

She had winnowed into one of the bedrooms in the palace above the mountain, the one Feyre had stayed in all those months ago. The Lord’s daughter, who’s name Mor had never learned, was limp in Mor’s arms as she lowered her onto the bed. She was still naked. MOr considered dressing her but… she thought back, for a moment, to her own lowest point. The idea of someone dressing her while  _ she herself _ was defenceless… she grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed, and draped it over the woman instead. She looked deathly pale in the light, the blood on her face and in her hair a stark contrast to her blue white face. Mor swallowed, and placed a hand on the woman’s forehead.

Mor was not a healer by any means, but she knew the basics, and used them to close the major wounds on the woman’s body. She healed and healed until she thought she was going to pass out, and then healed some more. Blearily, and with only a few steps left in her, she moved to a chair near the bed and closed her eyes.  _ Just a few minutes _ .

* * *

When the lord’s daughter woke, it was with a start. The first thing she registered was her position. She wasn’t chained to the wall she realized, but was in a bed. Still naked, still bloody, but  _ warm. _ It was  _ bright _ , so  _ bright _ around her. To her left, a large panel of glass revealed an incomprehensible sight.

_ I’m dead, _ she decided at last, staring out at behemoths of stone and light.  _ I’m finally dead. _

There was no pain in death, she realized. Her wounds were closed, replaced with faint bruises.

There were clothes, soft and dark, at the end of her bed. She put them on, and the movement only flared for a moment her arms and thighs.  _ Maybe there’s just a little pain in death. _

In the corner of the room, there was another figure, curled up in a chair, covered in a blanket.

_ Are you dead too, stranger? _

The lord’s daughter left the room slowly, as not to wake up the figure in the corner, and stepped into the hall. More light, everbright and cascading, to her left. She walked towards it. A sitting area at the end of the hall. A glass table with three chairs. One of the chairs was occupied. The person who occupied the seat was facing the unending stone and light, a delicate mug of tea in his hand. He turned as she approached.

She didn’t recognize him, per say, but she knew who he was. The truth of it sang in her bones and blood.

“You’re the high lord,” she said simply, shifting her gaze again to the stone and light. “Are you dead, too?”

The high lord just set his mug of tea down, and the lord’s daughter felt an unfamiliar pressure in her mind.  _ The high lord’s own mind _ . And then it was gone. The high lord,  _ Rhysand _ , leaned back in his chair, and looked out.

“You are not dead, Cecily Briar. The light before you is the sky, the stone is the mountain range.” He had pulled her name from her own  _ mind _ .

_ She wasn’t dead. _

“I didn’t think it would be so…”  _ big, unending. _

“Neither did Mor, when she saw it for the first time.”

She continued to look out into the world in silence for a moment, before remembering who sat before her.

“Should I kneel?” she finally asked, gaze not shifting from the unending expanse.

Perhaps Cecily would have been more reverent to the high lord, had she not been so sure of her own death only seconds ago. Had she not been staring at the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“No,” said the high lord simply, before he stood from his seat. “If I’m here when Mor wakes, she’ll kill me. And she’s waking up. It was nice to meet you, Cecily Briar.”

And then he was gone.

_ Not dead. She wasn’t dead. _

The high lord hadn’t finished his tea, and Cecily was thirsty. She had sat in one of the three chairs and finished the mug by the time she heard a new set of footsteps behind her.

“Are you Mor?” Cecily asked, still looking at the  _ mountains  _ and  _ sky _ .

“I am,” said the voice behind her. It was a nice voice… pretty.

“My name is Cecily.”

She heard the woman— _ Mor _ —sit in the chair beside her. Slowly, dragging her eyes away from the world before her, she shifted her gaze to the woman.

Everything fell away. The sky, the mountains, the light and the space. There was only one truth between them now, raw and blinding.

_ Mates _ .

Mor was her mate.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re my—”

“Mate,” Cecily finished. 

Mor paused. “Yes.”

Mor followed Cecily’s gaze as it shifted from her back out to the mountain range.  _ The awe in her face _ .

“Have you ever left the Hewn City?” She asked quietly.

Cecily chuckled slightly, voice still raspy. “Why would I?” She paused for a moment, breathing in the cool air. “I wanted to when I was young. But then Amarantha tricked the high lords and…” Mor watched her mate swallow. Slowly, she tucked a knee under her chin. “What happens now?”

Cecily wore many masks Mor couldn't read in the afternoon light. The night court’s third in command just sighed, a thrumming ache in her heart.

“Whatever you want.”

“Can I ask a few questions?” Her voice almost wavered. Mor just nodded. “Where are we?”

“In my cousin’s palace above the Hewn City.”

“Who is your cousin?”

Mor paused. “His name is Rhys.” She paused again. “He’s high lord.”

Mor watched Cecily nod, understanding. “The one with the tea.”

“What?”

“He was drinking tea, and he told me I wasn’t dead.”

Mor’s confusion only grew, but she stopped herself from asking further questions.

“We’re not—” Mor stopped again.  _ ‘As bad as we seem?’  _ What could he tell her, a woman who had only seen the worst of the inner circle for her entire life? 

Cecily seemed to understand.

“I’ve never seen you before. I know who you are, of course. But—” Mor watched the woman collect her thoughts. “When you or the high lord came, I was always either getting into trouble or being… reconditioned. I was—not an adequate representation of the Briar bloodline.” The words sounded rehearsed on her mate’s lips. “And thus I was not invited to the throne room.”

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, staring at the world before them. Cecily, beside Mor, refused to tear her gaze from the expanse.

“When I was young,” Mor tried, “Seventeen. I left the Hewn City for the first time. I sat under the stars each night—I  _ refused _ to do anything inside if it could be done outdoors. I tried to sleep outside and Cassian had to physically  _ drag _ me into the cabin. It's a good thing he did, I would’ve frozen to death.”

“Will you—” Mor watched Cecily’s face contort into something bitter, and then shift again into something sad. “Will I see the stars before we go back?”

Mor couldn’t breathe. The idea of this woman, her  _ mate _ , returning to the Court of  _ Nightmares _ . She almost growled at the thought, catching the sound in the back of her throat. She owed Rhys an apology, she quickly realized. The territorial aspect of this bond was… stronger than Mor had expected.

Softly, Mor spoke.

“You never have to go back there.”

Mor watched as disbelief and then a half smile flitted across the woman’s face.

“Where shall we go? I hear a man named Cassian has a cabin somewhere.” Cecily didn’t  _ believe _ Mor, she realized. She had grown up in the Hewn City, a community which prided itself on being the only place of importance in the Night Court. She didn’t  _ know _ Velaris existed.

“Rhys and the rest of our court stays here when travelling to the Hewn City—” Mor paused. Cecily was her mate, but Velaris was the most guarded secret in Prythian. Even if its existence had been revealed to the world by Hybern… Mor couldn’t risk telling her too much if her mate had no intention of keeping what she learned a secret. “Do you want to return to the Hewn City? You can—if you want.”  _ Even if it destroys me. _ “You would never be hurt again.”

Cecily was silent for a long time.

“I would rather freeze to death under the stars.”

Mor smiled softly.  _ I understand. _

“We can stay here as long as you like. And you should probably take a bath at some point. But when you are ready I can show you my home.” Cecily looked down at her hands and arms, and seemed to remember she was covered in blood.  _ Her own blood _ . She nodded and stood.

There was a wry smile on her face as she turned back to Mor.

“It was nice to meet you.” Such simple words considering the heavy weight of the mating bond which surrounded them.

Mor cracked her own grin.

“It was nice to meet you, too.”

* * *

Cecily scrubbed in the warm pool until her skin felt raw. Under her fingernails, behind her ears, in her more… intimate areas. Still, it didn’t feel like enough. The weight of the past couple weeks—the weight of a  _ lifetime  _ still clung to her skin. She sat under the water, scrubbing the blood out of her hair. When she rose from the water, red water cascading down her face and back, the mountains and sky still shone before her.  _ I will never tire of this _ , she realized.  _ If I may stay above ground, I will never grow tired of the sky. _ It was darker, she realized, than it had been when she was on the veranda with Mor. Mor, her  _ mate _ , who looked at Cecily like she was a delicate glass thing. Mor, who didn’t yet realize that Cecily had survived a century of her family’s cruelty, and who could have survived a century more if she had wanted to.

There were new clothes waiting for her on her bed when she returned. Simple, dark gray, modest. Pants and a button down shirt. She slipped them on easily. Mor was waiting for her on the veranda, wearing the same gown of red. She smiled softly as Cecily approached, and then frowned slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Cecily asked, suddenly self conscious.

Mor approached slowly, gaze fixed on Cecily’s arm. Cecily looked down, but saw nothing wrong. Mor had stopped a step away, concern furrowed on her brow. “May I?” she asked. Cecily only nodded, confused.

She had expected to flinch at the woman’s touch, even if she knew it was coming. When she didn’t, the woman’s hands soft and assured, Cecily was pleasantly surprised.

Mor turned Cecily’s hand over in her own. There was a pattern on her pale white skin, she realized. Webbing of dark gray and black. Cecily just smiled slightly, looking up at Mor.

“It looks like an infection,” Mor said, worry so clearly lacing her voice.

“It's not.” Cecily smiled. “I just… do that. I can’t control it.”

Mor looked up. “Do what?”

Cecily shrugged, “It’s how my magic manifested. I’m shit at winnowing and can’t summon things to save my life, but I’m good at… blending.” Cecily referenced the hallway around them to make her point. White marble walls. Pale white with veins of black and gray.

“When you were under the mountain…” Cecily watched Mor connect the pieces, “Your skin was dark gray. I had thought it was just grime.”

“Whatever stone I’m nearest, or whatever stone would allow me to blend in easier. My grandmother had a similar ability, I think.”

Her skin wasn’t an exact replica. It was soft, as most high fae’s skin was, and took on color the same way most high fae did, but as Mor looked her mate up and down, Cecily knew her skin looked strikingly similar to the marble which surrounded them. 

“Amren’s going to want to dissect you.”  _ Probably a joke _ , Cecily told herself before she felt too concerned. Mor’s eyes widening a second later confirmed Cecily’s suspicion. “Sorry I—”

“I get it.” Mor smiled, clearly relieved.

“I have just enough magic to winnow us both back to Velaris. But I’ll be pretty useless after that.” Cecily remembered the gaping wounds it felt like she had only just had.  _ Oh. _

“Whatever is easiest,” Cecily shrugged. Mor seemed to weigh the options.

“We should go to Velaris. After Hybern… We should go to Velaris.” Mor nodded, looking like she was convincing herself.

“Okay.” Cecily shrugged again, taking Mor’s extended hand. “What happened in Hybern?” The shock on Mor’s face told her it was clearly something big.

“I’ll tell you when we get home.” And then they winnowed away.

* * *

Mor’s townhouse was beautiful. It was in the heart of the city, the  _ city _ , for they were not in a small town or community.

“What is this place,” Cecily asked, no louder than a whisper.

Mor smiled, and there was a hint of sadness behind her eyes. “This is Velaris. The city of starlight.” Cecily wandered to the balcony, yelping slightly when she saw how high above the ground it was. Not as high as the veranda at the palace had been, but there was no stone to support them from the balcony. And then Cecily saw it; Buildings, not carved from stone but made  _ of _ stone and wood and tile. Some, Cecily realized after a moment, were missing roofs or were completely demolished, open to the elements.

“We are recovering from an attack by Hybern.”

“The country?” Cecily had heard of it, seen it on maps. A piece of land surrounded by endless water, an  _ ocean _ .

“And its king, yes.”

Cecily hummed. “Still. It’s very beautiful.”

“It's a lot to take in. Under usual circumstances, I would have tried to stay in the palace for a few more days while you… healed.”

Cecily threw a grin over her shoulder. “Usual circumstances? Have you done this before?”

Mor scoffed softly, but smiled back.

“With Rhys otherwise… occupied, Amren focusing on the book, and Cassian and Azriel…” she trailed off. “I’m leading both cities right now.”

Cecily hummed again, the only indication she was listening as she gazed out upon the endless structures and bustling citizens below.

“When was the last time you ate?” Mor asked behind Cecily’s structure.

Cecily thought for a moment and shrugged.

“I don’t know. How long was I being reconditioned?”

Mor’s voice was clipped as she responded. “You weren’t being reconditioned. You were being tortured.” Cecily just shrugged again. “Let’s get you some food.”

Cecily watched carefully at the way citizens of Velaris behaved around their interim leader. They did not bow or fall to their knees. Some nodded pleasantly to the pair, but none approached with anything more than a passing hello.

“Do they know who you are?” Cecily finally asked as they walked the short distance from the townhouse to a market a block away.

Mor nodded, waving amiably at a pair of children hitting each other with sticks.

“Hello Mor!” They cried out.

“Hello Garrett and Harmen,” she said, soft chiding in her voice. They lowered their sticks slowly. 

“When is Cassian coming back?” One of the boys asked, stick abandoned in the dirt as he approached the pair. “He promised me a  _ real _ sword.”

Cecily felt Mor tense at her side. But she plastered a pleasant smile on her face as she said, “Cassian is very sick right now. And if I remember correctly, he promised you and Garrett real  _ wooden _ swords.”

“Awww,” the boys groaned.

“When he gets better, please tell him to come over.” Garrett chimed in,

“Your wish is my command,” Mor curtsied, smiling. When the boys were behind them, picking up their muddy sticks and resuming their play, Mor turned to Cecily, “Yes, they all know who I am and what I do… this is a place of peace, Cecily. No torture, no iron fist.”

Cecily briefly wondered if everyone had just been lying to her about not being dead, and that this peaceful expanse before her truly  _ was _ the afterlife. It was surely not a hallucination, she reasoned. Never in her immortal life under the mountain would Cecily have been able to imagine any of this. She pushed the thoughts away. She didn’t really care either way, she realized. This was nice, and that was all that mattered. At least her hunger, dull in her gut, was real.

She had long ago stopped feeling hungry as she had when she was a child. The occasional stomach cramp or bout of blurry vision, sure, but decades of torture had dulled everything else into a manageable thrum. The healers in the Hewn City had told her it was normal, and Cecily hadn’t been bothered by it since.

Mor led them to a market and bought them both meat pies. They ate them on a bench as people walked past.

“I apologize,” Mor said between bites, “It’s a heavy meal. You should be building up to things like this after so long without food.”

“I can’t build up to anything if I’m dead.”

Silence. The distant sound of Garrett and Harman clashing sticks.

“I have a meeting with the governors tonight.” Mor said eventually. “You can come, if you’d like. Or you can stay at the townhouse—not that you have to do either. You could just… wander the city. I can get you a tour guide or you can go alone. I can also cancel the meeting—”

“You’re a lot different than the stories.” Cecily smiled faintly. She felt Mor tense slightly at the words.

“What do the stories say?” Mor asked, tentative.

“Mostly, they say you fucked the high lord and manipulated him into making you overseer so that you could exact revenge on your father.” Out of the corner of Cecily’s eye, Mor looked sick.

“Rhys is my cousin,” was all she managed. “They're lying. About all of it.”

“I know,” Cecily offered. Slowly, she reached out a hand, holding it out, palm up, for Mor to take, if she wanted to.

Mor did, and her hand was so warm in the cool evening breeze.

“Go to your meeting with the governors. I’ll stay in the townhouse.” She didn’t say she was sure she’d get lost in this city, but she thought Mor picked up on it anyway.

Cecily’s hand slid back into her own pocket as she stood, and their steps were unhurried as they strolled back to the town house. Once back inside, Mor offered a quick tour of the levels, before leading Cecily to a room down one of the halls.

“You can sleep here.” Cecily just nodded. “If you’re awake when I return, we can—well, we’ll figure something out. Restroom is at the end of the hall, and if anything goes wrong and you need help, just find someone trustworthy on the street and ask for me or Rhys. They’ll take you to one of us.”

And then Mor was gone.

Cecily was tired, so bone-achingly tired. But she still hadn’t seen the stars. There was a basket of blankets near her bed. She grabbed one and padded to the main room. The balcony was still much too high for Cecily’s liking, but if she didn’t look down… she looked out at the horizon instead of down at the street as she stepped out and sat in one of the two chairs. The  _ colors _ . Before today Cecily had only ever seen the world through faelight or torches. The  _ sun _ , so much brighter and more powerful than she had expected, casting its glow on the world as it passed below the horizon. She stayed awake until she did indeed see the stars above her, blinking white lights so far away. As the world faded into sleep, Cecily faintly heard the stars sing to her, welcoming her to Velaris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also writing a really heavy Lucien-centric fic (you can find it on my profile if you're interested), so this is quickly becoming the fic I write when I don't want to deal with slow-burn and trauma. So like.... there's that.
> 
> ALSO I talked about this on tiktok but this chapter ORIGINALLY had Cassian in it, but then I realized that Cassian is unconscious/having his wings regrown rn so I got SAD and had to rewrite the second half.
> 
> Lastly, comments make my DAY so please let me know your thoughts about this story so far/this story, or just tell me about your day if you don't want to do that.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Mor had finished her official work as leader of both Velaris and the Hewn City, the sun was only hours from rising, and she was dead on her feet. Her magic had returned, at least. She winnowed back to the townhouse and kicked her heels into a corner somewhere. She’d worry about them later. Barefoot and sore, she padded to Cecily’s room, noticing the door was ajar. The panic only struck when she realized that the bed she had offered her mate many hours ago was still untouched, and Cecily was nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry.”

Mor whipped around. Cecily stood before her, wearing the same clothes she had been wearing that evening. She looked bleary in the darkness, holding a blanket in her arms as she looked over Mor. “I slept on the balcony.”

“Why did you—” Mor stopped herself. “There are a few more hours until sunrise. You should go back to sleep.”

Cecily shrugged in agreement, padding past Mor into the bedroom. Mor let out a breath, relieved, and headed to her own bedroom. Sleep fell upon her swiftly, offering a comfortable, dreamless darkness.

* * *

Mor woke hours later, the sun high and bright in the sky. She felt like shit. Her head throbbed mercilessly, and her whole body ached.  _ Fucking healing magic _ . She assumed it was the healing magic, at least. After attempting to heal Azriel and Cassian a barely a week ago and healing Cecily’s major injuries the day before, the vague feeling of a neglected muscle being worked on ached in not her body, but somewhere else. Her soul, maybe, or the a place adjacent to the well of magic she and all fae pulled on for magical acts like winnowing. She vaguely heard a clang from what sounded like her kitchen, and quickly forgot the existential questions concerning the nature of magic in favor of sitting up. Clamoring slightly, she rose and headed out of her room.

“You look awful,” Cecily offered from the small kitchen when Mor emerged from the hallway where the bedroom and restroom lay. It was an open layout here, the kitchen, dining, and living space separated only by a marble island near the kitchen. Near the dining space, the doors to the small balcony where Cecily had apparently slept were flung open.

“Thank you,” Mor deadpanned. “How long have you been awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep after you came in. I tried reading, but got bored. Then I remembered I should eat, but everything here needs to be cooked, and I didn’t want to wake you up, so I tried to find the market. Then… I got lost. But! Those kids were there, Garrett and Harmen. So I asked them to show me to the market, and they did!” Cecily took a bite from a large carrot in her grip. She swallowed before continuing. “Then, I realized I didn’t have any money.”  _ Shit.  _ Mor hadn’t given her any money. “But the lady said I looked nice so she gave me some vegetables anyway. So I ate most of those. I’m sorry, what was the question?”

Mor smiled, headache lifting slightly. “How long have you been awake?”

“Oh! Since you came home.” Mor laughed softly. “How was work?”

_ Such a domestic thing to ask. _

“Tedious,” Mor admitted. “The governors can’t seem to mind their own business.”

“How so?” Cecily asked.

“They want to know our next steps concerning Hybern. Why the governor of the river district would want to know such things is beyond me, but they ask nonetheless.”

“Do your spies provide any insight?” The cock of Cecily’s head told Mor that she was being genuine. Mor tried to provide a genuine response, even as the question threw her off-guard.

“The spies? Most of our spies are outside of Velaris, as far as I know. Az is tight-lipped about all of that. Either way, the governor is within his rights to ask such questions—anyone is. I just don’t have any answers yet.”  _ Velaris was so different from the Hewn City. Did Cecily understand the concept of free will? Of unrestricted and unpunished speech? _

“Hm,” Cecily considered, taking another bite from the carrot and chewing contemplatively.

“What were you looking for in the kitchen? I heard a bang.” Mor sat on one of the tall chairs at the kitchen island. She watched Cecily freeze for a moment, looking like a frightened animal. “Whatever it is, I can help you find it,” Mor offered, trying to appear nonchalant.

Mor watched Cecily’s frightened gaze shift minutely into a narrowed one. She felt the assessing gaze examine every aspect of herself. Posture, facial expression, hand position. Then, Cecily sighed, slumping slightly.  _ There was something in her eyes… Guilt _ , Mor realized.

“I… I know this city is…  _ different  _ from where I grew up but… When I tried to find the market this morning, I realized I couldn’t protect myself. If someone wanted to grab me from the shadows and drag me away there was  _ nothing _ I could do.” Cecily was looking at the marble island, a familiar hardness in her expression, “I was looking for a knife.”

Mor sighed with relief. Cecily’s gaze shot up, shock written clearly along her face.

Mor’s eyes were faintly amused as she spoke, but her voice was strong, assertive, “You are allowed, nay,  _ encouraged  _ to protect yourself. We can go to Cassian…” Mor trailed off. “Actually, there’s a weaponsmith near Rhys’ townhouse. We can head there now.”

They would have winnowed, but Cecily expressed a vague interest in walking and they still needed real food, so they walked back to the market and bought hotcakes, eating them as they headed through the city. Mor made sure to pay back the woman who had offered her mate vegetables after Cecily pointed her out, and judging by the fond smile on her mate’s face, it was the right decision to make.

The weaponsmith was a large, hearty fae with a booming voice, which carried easily over the roar of his workshop.

“Mor!” He bellowed when they entered, “How are those seraphim blades treating you? You ever gonna bring ‘em in for me to sharpen?”

Mor laughed, friendly. “Not on your life. I can sharpen my own blades. I’m here for my…  _ friend…  _ Cecily.”

“Cecily!” The weaponsmith grinned, “Pleasure to meet you!” He held out a large hand for her to shake, and, to her credit, her grip seemed controlled as she shook the man’s hand. Her skin had shifted into a warm slate in the shop, much darker than the light gray color it had taken at Mor’s townhouse. “Whatcha looking for?”

Cecily turned to Mor for a moment. Mor tried offering the most supportive shrug she could.  _ Up to you. _

“A dagger,” Cecily decided after a long moment. “Something light, if you have it.”

The weaponsmith laughed, hearty and full. “Do you think I sit around selling heavy daggers? Well—” he amended, “I do, actually, but I have plenty of light ones too.”

Cecily cracked a faint smile.

“I can take the pair of you to the back?”

Mor wandered the back of the workshop and the weaponsmith and Cecily spoke, debating and weighting different knives.

Mor watched from the corner of her eye as her mate and the weaponsmith spoke. When the weaponsmith asked Cecily if she was looking for something with a gem in the pommel, Cecily shook her head no, stating that it would ‘reflect fae light too easily’. She held the blades he handed her with ease. Even her movements were utilitarian and reserved as she tested the weight and movement of the steel. No flair or pretty tricks as she twisted her wrist and adjusted her stance. It was fascinating to watch, and faintly sad.

_ Mor. _

She heard a sharp voice echo in her mind.

_ What? _ She responded, face cool. She turned to a rack of shortswords.

_ You’re nearby. Come to the townhouse. _

Mor sighed, picking a piece of lint from her dress and flicking it to the floor.

_ I’m busy. _

_ Come over when you are not busy. _

She could practically feel him roll his eyes.

Perhaps if she had been speaking out loud, she could have picked her words more carefully. But she was not speaking out loud as she thought,  _ I am with my mate,  _ projecting the thought back to Rhys before she could amend it to something more casual. ‘I am with Cecily,’ or something similar—less weighty. And considering where Rhys’ mate currently was, decidedly  _ not  _ with Rhys… Mor suppressed a wince.

She had told Rhys that she had found her mate, had projected that moment when the bond had clicked into place into Rhys’ mind while Cecily had been bathing in the palace above the Court of Nightmares. It was only fair, considering Rhys’ own panicked declaration to  _ her _ months ago, when he had returned from under the mountain. Still… 

_ Bring her _ , Rhys responded a few moments later.  _ Az fell asleep an hour ago and I would  _ **_appreciate_ ** _ your input regarding word we received from the continent this morning. _

A lousy excuse, they both knew it. None of them would say it out loud, but Rhys was… more  _ desperate  _ for company since Feyre left, even going so far as to inviting Amren to study the book in his townhouse _ , for safety measures _ , he had said. Amren had stiffly refused, shooting down the high lord with a pointed look. It was an unfamiliar side of Rhys, but a side Mor was willing to indulge, if even just for pity’s sake. They all missed Feyre, and the mating bond between her and Rhys must make the separation unbearable.

_ Maybe _ , Mor finally offered.

Rhys didn’t respond.

Cecily and the weaponsmith were done a few minutes later, Cecily having found a dagger, a traditional  _ misericorde  _ to her liking. The blade was long and thin, a thrusting dagger well equipped to slipping through weaknesses in armor and delivering a quick and merciful death. A small, brutal thing.

“Do you still have my account information?” Mor asked the weaponsmith as he handed Cecily the matching sheath.

“Aye,” the weaponsmith gruffed, “But don’t worry about it. You and your friend’s company was payment enough.”

Mor sighed, slightly exasperated, “You do this every time.”

“And I mean it every time.” His face grew somber as he leveled a determined look at Mor. “After the attack, it's the least I can do.”

There was silence for a moment, before Cecily spoke.

“What attack?”

The weaponsmith’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked to Mor.

“Velaris was attacked recently,” Mor offered simply. “By Hybern,” she added.

“You said this city was secret.”

“It was.”

The weaponsmith’s good-natured mood seemed soured slightly at the topic at hand.

“How about this,” he offered, still looking at Mor. “When Cassian is flying around again, you send him my way, and we’ll call Cecily’s blade paid for. I miss the old guy.” The weaponsmith shrugged at Mor’s amused look.

Mor sighed. She wouldn’t win this. “Fine.”

The weaponsmith smiled again, though it still didn’t reach his eyes.

“Alright.”

When they left, the new blade already strapped to Cecily’s belt, Mor led the pair down the street, absorbing, for a moment, the sound of the gulls in the afternoon and children squealing in a nearby park.

“Thank you,” Cecily said softly, barely louder than the quiet roar of the city. Mor waved her off. “I’m serious,” Cecily tried. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad you know how to use it. Cassian will still offer to train you, of course.”

Mor watched Cecily mull over the words.

“Cassian,” she finally said. Slowly, carefully. “The one with the cabin somewhere cold. Incapacitated, somehow.” It wasn’t a question more than it was an offer, and perhaps a subtle request.

Mor just smiled fondly. “The cabin is in the Illyrian mountains northeast. It was his, Rhys, and Az’s childhood home…” Mor tried to summon images of that cramped cabin instead of the more violent images which plagued her. A bolt in Az’s chest, Cas’ wings ripped apart like paper. So much blood.

“You don’t have to—” Cecily offered.

“It's fine.” _ It wasn’t fine.  _ “We went to Hybern a few days ago.”

“You and Cassian?”

“Me, Cassian, Az, Rhys, and Feyre.”

Cecily seemed to pick her words very carefully as she asked, “Feyre… The human who was turned fae?” An innocent enough identifier. Mor wondered for a moment what her mate had learned about their high lady from the Hewn City. Surely, she must know about the  _ spectacle _ Feyre and Rhys had become during their last visit to the Court of Nightmares. And perhaps she had also learned what had happened to Keir when he had foolishly dared to call Feyre a whore. 

“Yes,” Mor offered as confirmation. “She and Rhys… It’s complicated.” _ And I don’t know what I’m allowed to tell you.  _ The fact that Feyre was high lady of the night court was not her secret to tell.

Cecily only nodded, prompting.

“The five of us went to Hybern to try to break the cauldron.”

“ _ The  _ cauldron?”

“Yes. It went… poorly.”  _ So much blood.  _ “Az is recovering from a poisoned bolt, and Cassian’s wings were… damaged. Healers are doing everything they can to save them, but he’s still recovering. Unconscious.”

“And the rest?”

“Rhys and I got out relatively unscathed. Feyre, on the other hand…”

“Dead?” There was concern in Cecily’s eyes. Concern for a woman she had never met.

“Mother, no,” Mor said quickly, “She helped us escape.”  _ How much to tell her… _ Mor considered how much she trusted the woman. Cecily was her mate, but she was also a stranger from the Hewn City. But the night court’s third in command was exhausted from the past couple days, and who would Cecily even be able to tell? “She returned to the Spring Court as a spy.”

Cecily again spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. “To the high lord. The man she… originally fell in love with.”

Mor nodded. She wondered again what Cecily would have said were she in the Hewn City still, or were she with different company. They were less than a hundred feet from Rhys’ townhouse, Mor realized.

“Rhys asked me to come over while we were in the weapons shop. He invited you as well, if you’re interested. If you’d prefer, I can also drop you off at the townhouse.”

“Whatever is easiest,” Cecily offered.

When Feyre had arrived at the night court, she had been used to people like Ianthe and Tamlin making all of the decisions for her. She remembered that flash of rage in her friend’s eyes when she realized it, remembered how she looked when Mor had refused to offer the same cushion. From what Mor could infer about Cecily’s upbringing, it was different from the coddling of Feyre’s time with the spring court, but her mate had still turned to Mor to make decisions for them both; what dagger to get at the weaponsmith, what to eat at the market, whether they should winnow to Velaris or stay in the palace were all decisions Cecily had offered to Mor to decide. In the case of the dagger, Mor had refused to help, and Cecily had been able to work with the weaponsmith to choose a blade that was right for her. But now, faced with another choice, Cecily again deferred to Mor. It was a trait which could have easily been attributed to the shock her mate was likely feeling in Velaris. The newness of the city, the stark contrast it presented from the Hewn City. She could easily be taking it all in, too concerned with the sharp left turn life had taken to care about things as seemingly irrelevant as weapon choice or breakfast. It could just as easily be something completely different. Whatever the reason was, it was a dangerous habit to allow to fester, and even more dangerous for Mor to enable. 

“They are both equally easy,” Mor offered carefully. “It is wholly your decision.”

Cecily’s eyes narrowed slightly. Her skin was a warm grey reflected in the street’s cobblestones, and her dark brown eyes seemed sharper in the afternoon light as she looked at Mor.  _ Assessing _ .

Cecily turned back to the street as she spoke, hands casually in her pockets.

“Just as I have heard stories about you, I have heard stories about the high lord,” she began. “If the stories about you are as false as they appear to be, it stands to reason that the stories about him may prove false as well.” She didn’t meet Mor’s gaze, but kept her chin high. There was a harness in her jaw, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince Mor. “Besides,” she offered, a bit softer, “If we are mates and you are his third in command, I assume I will have to interact with him semi-regularly. I can’t hide at the townhouse every time you interact with your…  _ whatever  _ these people you talk about are to you.”

“You haven’t been  _ hiding  _ at the townhouse. You’ve barely been here a full day.” Cecily waved her off. “They are my family,” Mor said, gazing at Rhys’ unassuming townhouse three doors down. “Rhys, by blood. The others by choice.”

Cecily nodded. She hid it well, but Mor knew a nervous woman when she saw one. She offered a subtle hand for Cecily to take, and when the woman did, she squeezed it in a way which she hoped Cecily found comforting. After a moment, Cecily squeezed back. The townhouse was before them now, and Mor’s mate turned from a warm gray to the cool white of marble. 

Mor offered Cecily one more comforting squeeze of her hand before knocking on the townhouse door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized while planning this chapter that Cecily is basically a Hufflepuff who grew up in a Slytherin world. So while she's learned to be cunning and ambitious in her time in the Court of Nightmares, political power or manipulation doesn't really matter to her as anything other than a way to keep herself safe. I think it'll be interesting to see her shift and develop as time goes on, as well as see how Mor shifts and develops, too. 
> 
> Also, here's a wikipedia article on the type of blade Cecily got, a miseriecorde, "used from the High Middle Ages to deliver the death stroke (the mercy stroke, hence the name of the blade, derived from the Latin misericordia, "act of mercy") to a seriously wounded knight". The article is a quick read if you're interested.  
> http://bit.ly/cecilymisericorde
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, please consider commenting your thoughts! I love to hear what you guys have to say about my work, and it always makes my day to get a comment from you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading what I have posted so far! While you wait for me to post the next chapter, here's some other ACOTAR fics for you to read:
> 
> Deleted scenes from this fic, Sun and Starlight:   
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471182
> 
> And here's a link to the Lucien redemption arc series I'm working on:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896466
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
